


Par for the Course

by theskylarshippers (coyotestoryteller)



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Character Turned Into a Ghost, F/M, Ghosts, Golf, Hate Crimes, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, M/M, Mild Language, Multi, Murder, abandoned golf course, i use that tag excessively my lord, john & eliza are besties, there are more characters but I will add them when they come up in the work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:13:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23655154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coyotestoryteller/pseuds/theskylarshippers
Summary: Alex and Eliza break into the abandoned golf course in their town. Alexander doesn’t believe it’s haunted. He’s quickly proven wrong when the two of them find the ghost of Ash Grove Golf Course.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler, Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens, Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler, Francis Kinloch (1755–1826)/John Laurens, John Laurens & Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Comments: 12
Kudos: 35





	1. in which Alexander and Eliza meet a ghost, but not the one they were expecting

May 23, 2019. A sunny Thursday afternoon. 

“Alex, I really don’t think this is a good idea.” 

“Why not? You said no one’s been golfing here in years. The course looks it, too.”

The golf course was surrounded by hedges and tall trees, a sort of natural fence to require entry by the gate. In its prime, it had been lush, green, and impenetrable. After about five years of neglect, enough hedges had died that Alexander easily wove his way through. Eliza followed reluctantly, picking her way around spiky weeds and prickly bushes, trying not to tear her blue skirt.

“No one’s been golfing here in years because there’s a ghost.”

“I don’t believe in ghosts.”

“You would if you’d lived here five years ago.”

“Five years ago you were what, eleven? Eleven-year-olds believe in ghosts pretty easily.”

“This is a very bad idea,” grumbled Eliza, but she followed him anyway.

Eliza Schuyler was not stupid. Alexander Hamilton was also not stupid. They each had their reasons to believe or disbelieve in ghosts. Alexander believed himself to be a rational person. He didn’t believe in things without proof, especially not farfetched things like ghosts. Eliza also believed in logic and rationality, but she’d heard the stories of bloody golf balls and a ghostly man screaming and waving a sword. Eliza had lived in Ash Grove all her life. It was her town, and she ruled it, rebelling in quiet ways with such confidence no one ever noticed. Alexander was not from Ash Grove. He’d moved there less than a year ago and had been through a string of different foster homes before being adopted by the Washington family. He’d seen through his share of local legends and urban myths. He’d been tricked and lied to. Alexander took anything anyone said with a healthy dose of skepticism. 

The two of them were quite close, having been going out for the last few months and having been friends for nearly a year. Therefore, dear reader, you will not be surprised that although Eliza was of the opinion that entering the golf course was not the best decision Alexander had ever made, she was unwilling to let him make it alone.

So into the golf course they went, Alex leading and breaking trail, Eliza following behind.

Alexander burst out of the shadow of the trees and ran onto what used to be the course. After years of desolation, it was filled with wild grasses and small flowers, but he could still see dead patches where the sand traps used to be. There were cornflowers swaying in the wind at the top of the hill. Alex ran to the top as fast as he could, then bent over, panting, on the flat ground what used to be the teeing area. Eliza followed, more slowly.

When she caught up, Alex plucked a cornflower-- struggling a bit to do so; cornflowers are hardy plants-- and handed it to her with a flourish. 

“For my lovely lady.”

“You’re too kind.” Eliza looked a little more at ease now that they’d been on the course for a few minutes and no ghosts had arrived.

“Would my lady care to dance?”

She laughed, but he grabbed her hands and began a waltz. He hummed a tune as they went; Eliza didn’t recognise it; she supposed he must be making it up on the spot, or else have heard it somewhere else, before he came to Ash Grove. He twirled her, once, twice, three times, and she smiled at him with the power of a thousand sunbeams. 

“You’re a good dancer.”

“I learned when I was little-- had some vague idea that it would help me impress beautiful people, I think I read too many history books.”

“And then you came to Ash Grove, where we’re all half-stuck in the past, and it turned out to be helpful after all.”

“Yup. Who would’ve thought?”

She dropped his hands and smirked. “Betcha can’t beat me down the hill, Mr. Perfect Gentleman.” She turned on the spot, her skirt flying out, and broke into a run.

“Oh, it is ON _._ ”He sucked a breath in and plunged down the slope, running against the wind, and slowly gaining ground.

Eliza turned her head and caught his gaze. Her eyes opened wide; she flashed a smile at him and began to run faster. She reached the bottom of the hill, but kept going, across the meadow and into the trees. Alexander followed her, only a bit behind.

“Catch me if you can!” 

Eliza was nimbler than Alexander, and she used this to her advantage very well, leaping the creek several times, dodging around trees, even climbing over a boulder that happened to be in her way. Alexander barely managed to keep her within sight. She made it to the edge of a clearing, surrounded on all sides by ash trees and aspens. Then she stopped suddenly.

Alex caught up to her and tapped her on the back. She turned quickly and put a finger to his lips before he could say anything. 

“What is it?” he whispered.

She didn’t answer. There was an expression of befuddled shock and fear on her face.

The clearing was unusual in several ways. It was roughly oval-shaped, wide, airy, and sunny. At one end, Alex saw a rectangle outlined in white stones, about six by three feet, with a larger stone, like a pillow, at one end. A small stream wound its way through the other end, surrounded on both sides by a strip of scattered gravel. But the centerpiece of the clearing was an enormous rock.

The rock definitely wasn’t there by chance. It was carved, smooth and polished with rounded edges. Similar things are scattered around Ash Grove’s downtown district, referred to as bench rocks by the locals; there were comfortable-looking smooth seats carved into this particular bench rock on all four sides, but no one was sitting on them.

Rocks like this were the essence of Ash Grove; over-the-top, beautiful, slightly functional, and just begging to be misused. When downtown, Eliza and her sisters would almost always pass up the seats, instead sitting back to back on the flat top. There was no one in the seats of this particular bench rock, but there was someone on top.

To be precise, sitting on top of the bench rock in the sunniest clearing in the haunted Ash Grove Golf Course, kicking his feet and whistling at a bird in the treetops, was a ghost. He was undeniably a ghost; what else could a translucent silver human-shaped entity be?

“What do we do?” hissed Eliza. “How do you deal with a ghost?”

“I don’t know. Should we go talk to him?” Alex whispered back.

“He could attack us! They said a ghost attacked Mr. Heavensbee with a sword!”

“He looks nice, though. He’s a kid our age. He won’t attack us. I’m gonna go talk to him.”

“This is a very bad idea,” said Eliza, for the second time that day. Then Alex was striding quickly across the clearing, and she followed him anyway, for the second time that day.

“Hello?” 

The ghost jolted in his seat and jumped off the rock, whirling around in midair and somehow looking even more shocked when he saw Alex and Eliza.

“What-- what? Oh,” he stuttered, sinking through the air and landing in the grass. Alex took the opportunity to size the ghost up. If you were looking to form a mental picture of this ghost in your mind, Alexander’s observations will not be helpful. I apologize.

He was translucent, but shone silver, as if he were made of moonlight, and he was tall, and he had _freckles._ Alex temporarily lost the ability to form thoughts.

Eliza saw him blink, as if stunned, and smiled to herself. Alex quickly regained slight control of himself and, if not his composure, then at least his ability to speak.

“Uh, hi. You’re a ghost?”

“Yes. That was a rude entrance. Why are you here?”

“Uh, I just said hello. What’s wrong with that? And I don’t see ghosts every day.”

“Well, I haven’t seen _anyone_ for technically five years, so you could be a little quieter. Anyway, who’re you two?”

Eliza spoke up. “I’m Eliza, he’s Alex. I’m sorry for bothering you-- it was his idea. He didn’t think there were ghosts in the course. Although I admit I expected Henry Laurens.”

“I know you expected Henry Laurens. I have worked very hard to make people expect Henry Laurens. People are a lot more scared of a rich, paranoid businessman who carries a sword around than a sixteen-year-old kid. I’m John. Henry Laurens’ son, but technically not anymore.”

“Why aren’t you? His son, I mean.”

“Alex, shut up,” hissed Eliza, kicking him in the shin.

“Ow!”

“Nah, it’s fine, I’d definitely ask if I were you,” John said, idly plucking at a rip in his jacket sleeve. “I’m technically not his son because one, I disowned him, two, he disowned me first, and three, I’m dead.”

“Everything you say leaves me with more questions.”

“I can tell you the whole story if you want.”

Alex’s eyes lit up. Eliza cocked her head.

“But,” he said, “if I tell you the story you have to promise me a few things. One, that you don’t tell other people, or if you absolutely have to, ask me first. Two, that you don’t try to judge me. I made the decisions I made, and I’ve gotta live with them. And three… well, you don’t have to, but… will you come back in a couple days? I haven’t gotten to talk to anyone in ages.”

“Sure. I promise, and so does Alex, don’t you?” Alexander was staring into space, so Eliza elbowed him.

“Ah! Yeah, yeah, I promise! Tell us!”

The air was warm and the sky was blue. The landscape showed few signs of the things that had taken place there. Alexander and Eliza sat down in the grass. Birds were singing in the treetops as John began to speak.

John Laurens is a good storyteller, but this particular tale is difficult for him to tell. The story of one’s death always hits close to home. And besides, like anyone telling a story they have lived, he muddles the details a bit. So, dear readers, I will take over the telling of this tale.


	2. {intense} in which, you, dear reader, will hear the beginning of John’s story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This and the next few chapters are very dark. Graphic depictions of violence, major character death, and homophobia abound. The rest of the book will be a lot lighter.

After a few months of doing it, John had become a professional at navigating the hedge wall surrounding Ash Grove Golf Course. But to be quite honest, anyone could get through it by now, since John had worn a path in the grass, around and through the few gaps in the hedges. It would be easy to find a way into the golf course. It would be very easy for someone to follow him.

This had never occured to John before, and it most definitely did not occur to him that August night. He was in a hurry.

John skirted the edge of the green, sticking to the slightly less tamed woods. There shouldn’t be anyone else in the golf course after hours, but he didn’t like the unnatural perfection of the mowed grass. On another night, he might have splashed through the river or stopped to clamber up a tree, but this time he ran a straight course, making a beeline for the closest good spot. By the time he got there, he was breathing hard. He crashed through bushes and made no effort to be quiet. His ponytail was starting to come undone.

He didn’t hear someone following his tracks, slowly and quietly with the expertise of a hunter.

He ended up in a little valley, surrounded by ditches on two sides and ash trees on the other two, with a large rock in the center. He sat down on the rock and dropped his backpack at his feet. It was a beautiful hunk of marble, gray and white swirled together, polished and smoothed with four seats carved deep into it, back to back. It was about four feet tall at the highest point.

Occasionally, in the daytime on days the golf course was closed, John would clamber up onto the flat top and lie there in the sun, his legs dangling off the side. Doing this, he often got mud from his sneakers on the backrest of the chairs. It was unsafe. It was absolutely a violation of golf course protocol. He didn’t care.

John was a bit of a rebel. A gay sixteen-year-old boy in a high-society world which might as well be the eighteen-hundreds has no choice but to be. That, or submit. John had to stay in the closet at home, at social events, and around most people at school. In the golf course after hours, he was free.

John breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t know that there was a person on his trail, hiding in one of the ditches, only a few yards away. He pulled out his phone and called his boyfriend.

“Hey, babe.” 

Just hearing his voice lifted John’s mood. His boyfriend could always cheer him up, even though they hadn’t seen each other in person in a long time. “Hi, Francis.”

“Why so formal? Are you sad? Do you need me to cheer you up, love?”

“Nah, I’m good.” John could hear running water and the noise of people moving about in the background. He wondered idly where Francis was.

Francis’ voice echoed slightly when he spoke. “You, John Laurens, are a very bad liar.”

“Ah… I just had a fight with Laf and Herc.”

“About what?”

“You know how they’re the only ones in this town who know I’m gay? Well, they think I should come out to my siblings. I don’t think it’s a good idea. They’re too young. After I get out of Ash Grove they might tell my dad by accident, and that would be bad.”

“Yeah. That wouldn’t end well.”

“So we had an argument and I kind of stormed off and I texted them to say I was sorry, but they left me on read. I feel kind of guilty about it, honestly.”

“That’s rough, babe.”

He sighed and endeavored to change the subject. “So what’s going on with you? You’re flying out to DC in an hour, right?”

“Yeah. I’m actually in the airport bathroom-- sorry for the echo, by the way.”

“Francis. Why.”

He could hear the smile in Francis’ voice. “I’d do anything for you. Plus, I need some peace from my parents.”

“Well, that’s reasonable. You’ll be stuck with them for hours soon enough.”

Neither of them spoke for about a minute. John’s mind wandered a bit, eventually settling into a comfortable state of reminiscence. “Remember when we met? At that beach house in California?”

“‘Course I remember that, John. How could I not? You came up to me with that beautiful smile, said “Hi, I’m John,” and shook my hand for a bit too long.”

He chuckled. “Yeah. Then at the first opportunity, when we were alone, I asked if I could kiss you, and we spent the rest of the trip being gay in every available private space.”

“That’s rich, John. You pulled me into the back parlor while the adults were getting wine-drunk in the dining room. After flirting with me _during dinner,_ which was an incredibly risky move.”

“I mean, I was subtle.”

He laughed. “The greatest trip of my life.”

“Heh. Mine too. Going on a boring business trip to schmooze in California turned into getting the loveliest boyfriend in the world.”

Francis let out a sigh. “Listen, babe, I gotta go. Can’t afford to miss my flight-- Dad would have my hide if I got left behind.”

“Okay. Call me tomorrow?”

“Sure thing, babe! Love you!”

“Love you.”

Francis hung up before John had a chance to say anything else. He sighed and put his phone in his pocket. “Might as well leave, since my time with Francis is over,” he said to himself.

“Not so fast, young man,” said a voice from behind him. John turned in shock, recognising it. 

Henry Laurens was climbing out of the ditch, the sword he always carried at his side.

“Who was that on the phone?” he asked, striding quickly across the clearing and grabbing John’s shoulder. John was too stunned to move. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

“Did you hear me? Who was that on the phone?”

“Francis. Francis Kinloch.”

“A boy? Francis Kinloch. Kinloch, as in one of my best _business partners._ ”

“Yes. He’s my friend, we met--”

“I happened to overhear your conversation,” Henry said, cutting John off. “You met him in California. You _seduced_ him. You told him you _love him_. Filthy liar.”

“I do love him!”

It was the wrong thing to say.

“No. You don’t. You’re a sinner. You corrupted him. You will burn in hell, when you die. And you will die. I cannot-- if this gets out, that my son-- no. You’re not my son, not anymore. Not after betraying me like this.”

Henry pulled a knife from his pocket and removed its sheath. “Any last words? You’ll die here. I cannot have my legacy tainted. I will not allow it.”

John blinked.

 _So this is happening, then,_ he thought. _I’m going to die. What do I say?_

He casually stuck his hand in his pocket and found his voice, trembling. 

“My name is John Laurens. I’m gay.” He fumbled with the buttons, typed his passcode blind, and started a voice memo. _Success_. Playing games on his phone under the table during school finally paid off.

He said it again, less shakily. “My name is John Laurens. I’m gay.”

Henry’s eyes were on his face. He didn’t dare move. He talked faster.

“I have a boyfriend. I love him. He loves me. Love is not a choice. Love is not a sin. I am proud of who I am. My name is John Laurens. I’m gay. I have been told my whole life that I am wrong.”

“That’s because you are.”

“No. I am not broken, or a sinner, or loveless.”

“You go against God. Boy, I don’t want to hurt you. You still have a chance. Turn back, repent, and I will welcome you back into my home.”

“Some welcome. Never. You’re not my father anymore. You don’t deserve me.”

“I’ve heard enough. Your chance is gone. You’re irredeemable. You will never make me proud.”

Henry plunged the knife into John’s stomach, then slashed across his chest a few times for good measure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. Comments are always appreciated.


	3. {intense} in which John's story picks up again, right where we left off

Not surprisingly, being stabbed in the stomach hurts, a lot. John was trying very hard not to break down and cry. He was not successful, but he did manage to remain silent.

John staggered backwards, pressing both hands to his wounds, clenching his jaw, not wanting to give his father the satisfaction of making him scream, even if he couldn’t stop himself from crying. Henry moved closer, knife raised, a snarl on his face. John closed his eyes, just out of instinct-- which was a good thing, because only a second later he felt the knife rake across his face, over his right eyelid.

John frantically stumbled backwards, tripped over a root, and fell on his back. A jolt of pain shot through his body when he hit the ground. _That’ll be some nasty bruises tomorrow,_ he thought, just for a moment before he was metaphorically kicked in the face by the looming fact that he wouldn’t be alive to see tomorrow.

He had, after all, been stabbed already. He wouldn’t make it to a hospital even if Henry decided not to hurt him anymore. He’d known he was about to die since Henry had drawn the knife on him, but he hadn’t internalized it until now.

He gingerly opened his eyes. The dusky sky was lit by a pale moon, nearly full, just above the horizon. The trees looked the way they always looked, the ground as hard, and the air as cool. John found the familiarity jarring. Things should not be the same in a world where your father just stabbed you.

Blood started to run into his eyes from the cuts on his face. He blinked fast, several times, then squeezed his eyes shut. His eyelid was torn where the knife had crossed it and with his eyes shut tightly he couldn’t keep the blood out.

Time passed. It could have been a few seconds or a few minutes or an hour. It was all the same to John. He was on the ground. He was in pain. He was living one second at a time.

(In fact, John had been lying there for about two minutes. In the meantime, Henry had been pacing up and down the sides of the valley, muttering to himself and periodically bending down to inspect the base of the nearest tree. The knife was concealed in his coat pocket, but his sword, unused, was still at his side, gleaming and sheathless. He finally found what he was looking for, or rather hoping not to find-- a cross carved into the wood of an ash tree.)

Henry Laurens leaned into one of the ditches and retrieved a large bag of tools. John had barely registered any of his movement, and reacted to it only when Henry kicked him in the side.

“Get up. And stop crying.”

John opened his eyes and slowly pushed himself to his knees. He did not stop crying, but he managed to speak, albeit somewhat shakily.

“You’re the one who stabbed me. I wouldn’t be sobbing like an idiot on the forest floor if you hadn’t decided to go after me with a knife.”

“I’ll concede that, boy,” Henry replied with a grim smile. “Stand up. We’re going.”

Henry was impatient, grabbing John’s shoulder and manhandling him to his feet. Once standing, John managed to keep his balance, and Henry strode out of the valley, a bit too fast for John to comfortably keep up. When he got a few feet behind, Henry walked back to him, grabbed his wrist, and pulled him along.

“Walk faster. I’ve got a lot of work to do tonight.”

“Where are we going?” John managed to get out between gasps of pain.

“To a clearing. This little valley already has things buried in it. I know there’s a place near here with nothing yet.”

“What’s buried in the valley? What are you burying?”

“I don’t know what’s buried in the valley, I just know someone marked a tree, so there is something or someone buried there, and I am not risking digging anything up. What do you think I’m burying?”

“I… don’t know.” He did know. He didn’t want to say it.

“I’m burying you. You do realize you’ll die here tonight.”

“Yes. I do.”

Henry walked faster, looking over his shoulder as he did.

They stopped in a wide, oval-shaped clearing. Henry hurried, dragging John with him, to a patch of gravel near a small stream. He took off his coat and spread it on the ground. “Sit here. Don’t get any blood on the ground. I’m going to dig.”

(Henry’s knife was still in his coat pocket, but neither of them remembered that at this moment.)

John sat, hugging his knees to his chest and watching Henry walk across the clearing. He waited as Henry removed a shovel from his bag and began to dig. When he was sure that the noise of metal against dirt and the labor of his task would keep Henry from noticing anything he said, he pulled out his phone and called Francis. The voice memo he’d started earlier continued to run.

Francis didn’t pick up, which he knew would happen, but he still felt a last shred of hope leave his body. He left a voicemail.

“Uh… hi. It’s John. I just wanted to say… I love you, but… you don’t... don’t have to love me forever, you know? You’re allowed to move on from me anytime, if it gets, gets to be too much for you. I’ll understand. Don’t try to look for me. Please. I don’t want my siblings to have trouble. I… goodbye, Francis. Goodbye.” 

He sat there for a while, quietly in pain, listening to his father dig his grave, and pondered. He was running out of time. What exactly could he do with the last few minutes of his life?

Softly and shakily, John began to sing.

His song started out as a low, wordless tune, moving into verses and choruses that he patchworked together from all the songs he had heard in his lifetime; the first verse of the song that was his favorite when he was thirteen, the chorus of a rock anthem he heard once at a party months ago that had continued to rattle around in his mind, a lullaby his mother had sung to him when he was young, all in low quiet tones. Every part of it, even bits of the happiest songs he knew, came out sad. His chest ached and his shirt was soaked with blood, but singing made it easier not to feel pain.

Somehow he moved into reciting poetry he’d learned in school, bits and pieces stuck in his memory, then back into music; songs he’d learned in school and from friends and heard on the radio, the bridge of one song he’d heard once being sung by a girl standing on the corner of Via Capri. John was not a good singer, but it is impossible to sing a song on your deathbed without it becoming a strange kind of beautiful. He sang until his voice began to give out and he curled up on Henry’s coat and closed his eyes, just for a moment, to rest.

Then he jolted with a start because he had almost gone unconscious and he hadn’t said goodbye to enough people yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading (and leaving kudos/commenting if you do so), y'all are lovely.


	4. in which John dies and is buried

“Bye, Mary Eleanor. Love you, Henry. I’m sorry, Martha. See you soon, Mom.” He was whispering into his phone with the vague idea that they’d hear the recording someday, somehow, although he knew in his heart it was unrealistic. How could he get it to them? He knew he would be dead in a few minutes. There’s only so much blood in a person’s body. 

“Herc, Laf, I’m sorry. Love you two. Try not to feel too guilty. It wasn’t your fault. Goodbye.

‘I hope you all have good lives. I hope you don’t miss me too much. Take your time and don’t spend it waiting for me. I’m not coming back. I’ll wait for you.

‘This is John Laurens, signing off.”

And with that, he stuck his phone into his pocket, curled into a ball on Henry’s coat, and closed his eyes.

He was unconscious for about five minutes before he died.

Henry continued to dig and missed the exact moment of his son’s death. It would not have mattered to him anyway. He had a lot more digging to do before the night was over.

John didn’t know what it had felt like to die. He had closed his eyes and slept and died and awakened. For a moment he thought he was still alive, that miraculously he had survived and had been taken to a hospital and that was why all the pain was gone. When he opened his eyes he realized the truth. He was a ghost.

It felt strange to exist without a physical body, as if he would burst into pieces in a strong wind. He was floating slightly above the ground and his hands went through the dirt when he tried to grab it and he couldn’t get onto the ground and he could SEE his own dead body a few feet away and he did not like it one bit. John was starting to panic.

_No no no no make it not real make it not real this isn’t fair--_

Ignoring all logic, he tried to believe as hard as he could that he wasn’t a ghost. Shockingly, that was actually the right approach to the issue at hand. John fell a few inches onto the grass.

That was better. He could touch things now. He was still transparent, but at least he had an actual body. He shoved his hands into his pockets and found that his phone had become ghostly, just as he and his clothes had. The voice memo was still running. He didn’t bother to turn it off.

John walked over to himself, his body, whatever. Dead John was covered in blood, still lying on Henry’s coat, arms wrapped around himself. 

And there was the knife, in the coat pocket. John knew exactly what he could do with that sort of weapon. He pulled Henry’s knife out and turned it over in his hands, considering. Should he go through with it? Does it count as murder if he killed you first? Would killing his father help keep his siblings safe?

Unfortunately, he didn’t have much time to ponder. Henry had finished digging the grave and was climbing out of it. John didn’t think, only acted, and suddenly he was across the clearing, holding the knife at Henry’s throat.

Henry spluttered, his eyes bugging out. “What-- John?”

“Yup. Surprise! I’m a ghost.”

“You can’t kill me yet. You don’t know how to bury a body.”

“Fair enough. Although I will definitely kill you if you try to leave, so don’t try. Sit here” -- he put away the knife, pointed to a patch of ground, and took Henry’s sword with his other hand-- “and give me a minute. It’s my grave. I want to do it. You can advise me.”

Stunned, Henry sat on the ground and watched his son’s ghost pick up his fallen body. “Don’t get blood on the ground here. If someone investigates when I go missing, they’ll find your grave if they see it. That’s why I had you sit on my coat, which was a bad idea as it turned out, but how was I supposed to know you won’t even stay dead?”

John didn’t reply. Carrying his own body was a strange experience. At the moment, he was focused on giving himself a good funeral. It didn’t help that his body was heavy and difficult to move. He did, however, register Henry’s words, and tried not to drip any blood on the ground. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t want anyone to find his grave, but he felt protective of it. This peaceful clearing was a better place to be buried than anywhere his father or his father's assistants might have chosen for him, anyway.

He walked up to the edge of the hole and jumped down. He wasn’t expecting to feel the fall, so he didn’t bend his knees as he landed, which he regretted immediately. He didn’t know ghosts could still feel pain. He laid the body in the grave as gently as he could. Tiptoeing around the edges, he straightened his body’s coat, folded its hands over its chest, and closed its eyes. 

“Goodbye,” he whispered. 

Henry hadn’t moved; he watched John climb out of the grave and turn to face him.

“Let’s get to work. Start putting the dirt in the hole. There’s no coffin, in case you were wondering, but there are several shovels. It will be faster if we both work.” 

John nodded. Henry got up slowly, raising his hands above his head. John removed another shovel from Henry’s bag of tools, which was lying at the foot of the grave. The two of them worked in silence, slightly out of step with each other. When the hole was filled, Henry removed a ten-pound bag of gravel, which, shockingly, happened to match the gravel lining the creek. John snatched it from him and covered the grave with it.

“You should put some gravel in other parts of the clearing too, so that the patch here is less suspicious.” 

John handed the bag of gravel back to Henry, somewhat forcefully. “You do it.”

Henry slung the toolbag over his shoulder scattered the gravel about the clearing with practiced movements. John watched him and wondered what and who else he’d buried.

(In fact, Henry had not buried any people before John, but he had buried four different safes full of objects of varying value, most of which he had come by legally, but we do not have time to get into the many dealings of Henry Laurens.) 

Henry put the empty gravel bag into the toolbag, then threw it into the woods in one direction and bolted in the other. After a few seconds, John realized what he was trying to do, then chased after him, pulling the knife out as he did so. 

Henry may have been running for his life, but John had absolutely nothing to lose. Add John’s advantage of not being a forty-six-year-old man in a full suit, and Henry didn’t stand a chance in the end, but it was still a long chase. Desperation can affect people in the strangest ways.

John crashed into his father, pushing him over. Only when he had the knife at Henry’s throat did he notice where they were: back in the valley where John had originally been stabbed, rock and all. 

“You’re fast.”

“Comes with not being an old guy. Did you actually think you were getting away?”

“Of course not, but at least this way you’ll kill me in the same place I stabbed you. Increases the odds that no one will find out what happened to you.”

“Huh. I didn’t think of that. You do know I don’t want anyone to find out you killed me either, yes? I’m a ghost now. I want the world to leave me alone, if they even believe I exist. I don’t care about your reputation, but if our family name is discredited, that could be a problem for my siblings. So your secret is safe with me.”

John was lying through his teeth, making things up on the spot. He honestly hadn’t thought about whether it would be a good idea or not for people to find out what his father had done, but it was a reasonable position to take and letting Henry think John wanted to keep his own murder a secret might make it easier to deal with him.

“Well, that was obvious in hindsight,” Henry replied. 

“So. Here we are. Any last words?”

“I just want to say, I regret killing you.”

“Yeah, sure you do. You regret that killing me is leading to your death. You don’t feel guilty about all the things you said to me. You don’t care that you killed your son. When you found out I’m gay, I was already dead to you. At this point, all you care about is you.”

“I cannot live with a broken son. My legacy--”

“You lived with me for sixteen years. You loved me to some degree, I believe that. But however much you cared for me was entirely based on the condition that I was your perfect kid. I’m not perfect, by anyone’s standards, but not because I’m gay. Because I’m human.

“And also because I’m about to commit patricide.”

Their eyes met and he saw Henry’s widen. The knife fell across the exposed throat. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for this chapter. Comments make up the vast majority of my motivation, so please: yell at me, yell at the characters, give me advice, whatever. Chapter five should be here soon!


	5. in which John enjoys ghostliness a bit too much and those who live in Ash Grove are paranoid

John’s memory of that night has always been patchy, as if he dreamed it. One second he was cutting his father’s throat in the valley where he’d been stabbed. The next second he was out on the green, lying face down in the sand trap, the knife still in his right hand and a scrap of silk in the other. He had no memory of getting there. The knife was free of blood and the silk was sopping wet; there were beads of water in his hair and the folds of his clothes, but they hadn’t soaked through.

(In fact, what had happened is this: John had cut a piece of silk off of his father’s tie and bolted from the spot, only pausing for a moment to finally stop the voice recording that had been running all this time. He wasn’t looking where he was going and quickly fell into the creek; as it wasn’t deep, he made his way out, then stumbled across the green to the sand trap where he flopped into the sand and sobbed quietly for a moment.) 

He rolled onto his back and stared at the stars for a while until he regained his composure and sense of time.

He called Lafayette. Voicemail.

“Hey. I wanted to say I’m really sorry. Will you meet me at the golf course on Sunday? Please? Even if you don’t want to or… think it’s a bad idea for some reason. It’s important. Bye mon ami, see you then.”

(John had not yet realized that his voice was no longer capable of being recorded. When Lafayette listened to the voicemail the next morning, he heard only a buzzing static and the echoes of unintelligible whispers. The voicemail is still on his phone; the day he heard it first, the day Henry Laurens’ murder was discovered, was not a day when the upkeep of one’s voicemail box was high on the list of priorities, and after it became something of a keepsake, the lost last words of a disappeared friend.)

Lying in the sand trap, darkness around him, John realized he didn’t want to leave the golf course. And yet, he’d have to, or at least he’d have to hide when it was open. The sort of people who frequented Ash Grove Golf Course weren’t going to take a ghost lying down.

Unless-- the thought occurred to him suddenly and took root in his mind-- he scared them so much that no one would come near.

\--

John remembers breaking into the shed where the many machines used to keep the golf course perfect. He remembers mixing several different colors of varying shades to create a deep blood-red-- one very practical use for his artistic training. He remembers painting the words KEEP OUT across the gate and most of the signposts scattered around the golf course. He doesn’t remember climbing onto the roof of the club, but he does remember painting an enormous cursive H. L. on it. There had been many other exploits that he barely remembers.

Suffice it to say, by the end of the night, John had painted threatening messages on nearly all the signposts, poured the red bloodlike paint into all the storage containers he could find (especially those containing clubs or balls), splashed certain ash trees with it, and stolen about two hundred yards of wire and one-hundred-twenty-three china teacups. He had also learned to become tangible or intangible at will, or even to become invisible. When he had finished, the sun was rising. John sat on the ground, invisible and incorporeal, just behind the gate, and waited for people to arrive.

It didn’t take long. A few workers arrived early to open the golf course. John saw their eyes widen as they read his messages in “blood”. They fled in terror and John almost regretted what he’d done; the workers definitely weren’t his targets for this operation.

When Ash Grove Golf Course did not open at seven a.m. that sunny morning of August 18, 2014, the golfing-obsessed residents were perturbed. “What is this, some sort of joke?” shouted the eminent Mr. Havernatch. “Keep out? It’s a golf course, for God’s sake!” A horde of golfers quickly gathered at the locked gates. Someone or other broke the lock; no one is quite sure who. It does not matter. It was Mr. Havernatch who elbowed his way in first, his wife on his arm. It was his wife who saw the sign-- one of John’s best, the shape of a knife dripping with blood and the works AVENGE ME-- and screamed.

No one in Ash Grove could resist a spectacle. By eight-o’clock, a crowd had gathered. Most people wandered in, saw a few signs, and fled outside the gate. A small group of teens arrived on the scene and decided to go all the way in. They laughed at the signs, were amused by the blood-- “so obviously just red paint, can you believe they all fell for this?”, and speculated as to the perpetrator: “Who do you think pulled this off? My money’s on Lee, you know, the senior? I know, I know, he’s too much of a coward to pull it off, but this is exactly the sort of thing he would think is funny.”

John followed the teenagers through the golf course, watching them call to each other, jumping over the river-- and they were so close to the valley already. John ran in the other direction and closed his eyes when he heard them scream.

They ran out of the golf course babbling over each other incoherently. “There was-- dead-- looked like-- Laurens-- stabbed--”

The police arrived about ten minutes later. 

It took a week for the golf course to reopen. During that time, John took every opportunity to practice his newfound ghost powers and discovered his abilities and limits. He could fly, as high as he wanted, but he couldn’t leave the golf course. Even floating fifteen feet above the gates, he hit an invisible barrier when he tried to cross the threshold. 

Lafayette didn’t come to the golf course on Sunday. John wasn’t really surprised, but he was still dejected, pacing the perimeter all day and nearly bursting into tears near nightfall.

He tried not to think about dying or killing or the endless silence. He didn’t sleep; he was afraid of the things he might have dreamt. Some days he sat on the bottom of the creek, in the spots it was deepest. The silence underwater was almost calming; it didn’t drive him up the wall like the quiet of the woods. He didn’t have to breathe anymore; he could stay there until he had the courage to face direct sunlight. When he wasn’t underwater, he sat on his grave. He had outlined it with white stones and placed a larger rock where the head lay. For some reason, he found it comforting to be near his body’s resting place.

He planned more tricks. When the golf course reopened on Monday, John was ready to scare them all away. He didn’t like the silence or being alone so much, but it was better than the alternative of hiding all the time.

The patrons of the golf course found bloody fingerprints on their clubs, the initials HL carved into trees, AVENGE ME and PAY FOR YOUR CRIMES painted on signposts. The workers were told to work overtime to remove them. Half of them quit within a week. The golfers began to grumble about the “poor staffing” and the “vandalism”. John realized his tricks weren’t good enough to scare them anymore. He was going to have to up his game. Luckily, he knew just what to do.

It took him a whole night of work. He picked the ash tree near the first hole. He finally used the teacups he’d stolen the night he died, as well as around twenty bottles of wine he took from the cellar. It takes a very long time to glue wire to the bottom of over a hundred teacups. He used up almost all of his red paint, mixing it with wine to make it last. But the effect was all worth it.

They came early to golf on Thursday morning. They saw a tree with bottles of wine--or was it blood?-- hanging from the branches, teacups dangling by wires, blood spattered down the sides and dripping over the edges of each cup. They ran. 

Ash Grove Golf Course was closed the next day. John didn’t know what the owners were going to do with it, but no one was there to bother him.

He finally managed to go to the valley where he had been stabbed and he had killed his father. It had been cleaned up. The body had been taken somewhere to be buried. Yet John still quaked with fear when he entered it. He didn’t go there just to see it, but to move the rock. He missed sitting there, but he didn’t want to remain in a valley with such bad memories. It took hours to do, but he managed to move it to the clearing where his body was buried. It was there, sitting on the rock and listening to the birds, enjoying the fruit of all his labor, that he realized how tired he was. Perhaps ghosts did need to sleep after all.

He leaped off the rock and lay down on his grave. It was the afternoon of August 29, 2014. He fell asleep with the sunshine on his face; when he drifted off, he became incorporeal for the first time in days.

How long did John sleep, you ask?

Five years.

(Well, four years and eight months if you want to get technical about it.)

He awoke the morning of May 2, 2019. He didn’t have to check the date on his phone to know that he had been asleep a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Comments mean a lot to me, so please tell me what you think.


	6. in which Alexander is oblivious and John is lonely

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! I've returned with a new chapter, and I promise there will be another one sometime next week. Please, comment and leave kudos if you enjoy the story! It really helps keep me going.

May 23, 2019. A sunny Thursday afternoon. A boy, a girl, and a ghost sat in the clearing in an abandoned golf course.

“So I wake up, and the grass and the trees are so wild, and there’s all these plants growing on my grave-- I weeded it, that’s why it looks so nice-- and so I say to myself, how long was I out? And I check my phone and it’s May of 2019.”

“Wait, how is your phone still working?”

“I don’t know, it ended up ghosted when I died, just like my clothes did. See?”

John pulled out his phone and handed it to Alexander. “It’s transparent, as you can see, and as far as I can figure out, when I’m not touching it it’s tangible, but if I’m touching it it’s in whatever state my body’s in. And for some reason, it doesn’t run out of battery, ever. It’s been years; I’ve used my phone a lot for the time I’ve been awake, and it’s still at 82%. I’m assuming that’s how full it was when I died.”

“Huh, weird. Do you have, like, wounds from being stabbed? Your clothes look damaged.”

“Alex!” Eliza almost shoved him. Does he have no tact? 

“It’s fine. For some weird reason, due to ghostly magic or whatever, I don’t have any visible injuries from death, and all the scars I had when I was still alive-- not scars from dying, old scars from before that-- are gone now. My clothes are still the way they were when I died. As in exactly when I died; they’re all torn up and bloody, unfortunately.”

Alex considered this. He didn’t actually know much about ghosts, since he hadn’t believed in them until just then. He idly wondered if John’s situation applied to all ghosts. 

“Alex, we should really get going. You don’t want to be late for dinner.”

“Oh, yeah, sure. We’ll come back here, um, Saturday? I’m busy tomorrow-- debate club. Does that work for everyone?”

“I’m free.”

“I’m stuck in this golf course for eternity, of course I’m free. See you then.”

“Wait, do you want anything?” asked Eliza. “We could go to the mall or somewhere and get you stuff, so you won’t be as bored.”

John thought for a minute. “New clothes, maybe? These are kind of gross. And basic drawing supplies. I have money, I can pay you back for anything you get me. Or wait, no, because I can’t get any money here--”

Eliza cut him off. “John. Chill. If you haven’t realized, we both live in Ash Grove. I can afford to buy you whatever.”

“Yeah, Eliza is loaded.”

“So are you! You just don’t think of the Washington’s money as yours. They would give you anything you ask. You’re their kid.”

“Adopted kid.”

Eliza didn’t push it further. “Can you put your number into my phone? If we’re buying you stuff I want to text you about it.” 

“Okay, sure.”

Alex regretted not asking for John’s number first, just for a moment. He could get it from Eliza anyway, why should it matter? He brushed the thought aside and tried to pay attention to the conversation. 

“So, I’ll see you Saturday?”

“Yep! I’d guess the afternoon, so we can go buy you things in the morning.”

“Okay, see you then. Y’all should probably get going.”

“Yeah. Bye, John.”

“Bye,” echoed Alexander.

“See ya!”

Alex doesn’t remember much about how they got out. Eliza led the way; she somehow remembered where they’d gotten in and figured out how to get there from John’s clearing. He was still processing the fact that they’d met a ghost.

Eliza stopped just outside the course and turned to face him. “Soo…”

“So.”

“I was right about there being ghosts in the golf course.”

“Yes, you were. Just goes to show I should listen to my girlfriend more often. We did indeed meet a ghost, although a mostly non-homicidal one.”

“A cute ghost.”

Alex choked. “What?”

“Are you trying to claim that he’s not cute?”

Alexander had absolutely no idea how to respond to that. Eliza didn’t seem to mind. She moved close to him, quickly kissed him on the nose, then spun around and took off. 

“Bet I can beat you to the circle!”

“Hey! That’s unfair!”

Alexander chased after her and put John Laurens out of his mind. Meanwhile, on the rock in the clearing, John Laurens was not even trying to put Alexander out of his mind.

“So,” he said to the sky. He had developed a habit of doing that recently. It made it easier for him to organize his thoughts. And besides, he missed the sound of voices. “People. Here. I should have been freaked out that they would try to exorcise me or something. I should have hidden. Why wasn’t I scared?

‘Okay, I know why. She was friendly. He was cute. Really, really, cute. Man, those eyes...” He sighed. “I’m really desperate, aren’t I? First guy I see-- he’s taken! His girlfriend is really nice, and he’s probably straight anyway. Wow, I’m lonely.

‘I wish I could call Laf or Herc. I could, I guess. Maybe at some point my voice will be understandable.

‘Or, apparently, I could sit here and listen to the voicemails again.”

During John’s frenzy of hauntings and ensuing five-year nap, he’d received a lot of voicemails from Lafayette and Hercules and Francis. Some of them he’d been awake to get. He’d stopped picking up their calls once he realized they couldn’t hear his voice.

August 18, 2015. 11:03 a.m.

“John, mon ami! What was that? You picked up but you did not speak, or did not speak truly. I heard a voice, a whisper, all covered by static. Has your phone broken? Text me, please.”

August 18, 2015. 1:08 p.m.

“John, what’s going on? Laf said your texts were all glitchy and when he opened them he heard a faint scream. How’d you do that? What’d you do? John, please tell me this is a joke.”

August 18, 2015. 1:13 p.m.

“John. I’m really sorry for bothering you, I know it’s hard on you. Even though you hate him, it’s hard for people to die. Will we see you at school tomorrow?”

August 18, 2015. 1:18 p.m.

“Mon ami! Mon ami! We are so sorry about this. But please!”

“John. Please. I know you’re angry with us. We just need to know you’re still alive. Call us. Text us. Whatever. Please stop glitching us. We need to know you’re alive.”

August 18, 2015. 8:03 p.m.

“Babe? I’ve been calling you all day. Are you okay? You left that voicemail-- John, why would you be thinking about that? What made you think I would need to move on from you? I heard the news about your father. I’m probably jumping to conclusions. Please, tell me you’re alive.”

August 19, 2015. 9:18 a.m.

“So you’re dead. Why didn’t this make the news? Because of your father, of course. Did he kill you? Why am I calling you? You’re dead. What was up with those messages? Just a glitch, I guess.”

‘You deserve to be remembered. You should have been at least reported dead. 

I’m sorry we were mad at you when you died.

‘Oh God, is that what happened? Did you listen to me and Laf and tell him you’re gay and he killed you for it? Oh God.

‘I guess if you’re dead, there’s no point calling you anymore.”

August 19, 2015. 10:25 a.m.

“Babe. Please. You can’t be dead. I… no. It would make the news. You can’t be. Why? What happened? Did he kill you?”

October 28, 2015, 9:35 a.m.

“So, John. It would have been your birthday. I’m calling you. If this number has been reassigned, I apologize sincerely.

So, John. I… I miss you so damn much…”

(Francis Kinloch has a tendency to ramble, and it is not necessary to go into so much detail. His heartache may be consigned to the past for the most part.)

October 28, 2016, 1:33 p.m.

“So, John. I miss you still, but I’ve been better recently. I’ll make it without you, somehow…”

November 27, 2016, 5:46 p.m.

“So, John. I met a girl. I’m sorry. But you said I didn’t need to love you forever. It still eats at me, though. I still miss you…”

October 28, 2017, 4:32 p.m.

“Happy birthday, John. You’re still here, in some way, I think. Otherwise I wouldn’t be able to call you. Calling you makes you feel more like you did exist, a while ago, or like you left for a few years but you’ll come back…”

October 28, 2018, 2:21 p.m. 

“So, John. I’m engaged. She’s lovely. I told you about her. I love her so damn much. I tell her almost everything. I didn’t manage to work up the courage to tell her I do this, though. Too weird. Too personal. I’ve learned to miss you easily. I miss you and it passes and I’m okay. I’m sorry...”

John had quickly given up on texting or calling once he realized that he couldn’t be understood. The thought suddenly occurred to him that giving Eliza his phone number was useless, as he couldn’t reply. _Well, no use in remembering that now. Whatever they get for me will be fine; better than what I’ve got now, at least._

John turned his phone off, lay down on his rock, and waited for the day to pass.


	7. in which Alexander and Eliza go to the mall

Friday passed in a blur for Alexander. He went home, slept, went to school, went home again, slept again, and suddenly it was Saturday morning and Eliza was on his doorstep, tapping at her phone furiously. 

“So, I texted John, but apparently being a ghost makes things weird and his texts are all glitchy and you can’t read them and for some reason it screams when I open them, like my phone plays a quiet scream sound, even when it’s muted. But we managed to figure it out, after a little bit of trial and error. So the two of us can ask him yes or no questions. He can read them fine, and if he wants to say yes he’ll text a really long answer and if he means no he’ll text a really short answer.”

“Okay, that’s good. Can you give me his number?”

Eliza chuckled. “Sure. You should have asked him, though. You missed a good opportunity.” Her fingers flew over the keys. “There. Texted you his number and told him we’re going to the mall now.”

“Cool. Let me get my stuff and then we’ll go.”

Alex ducked inside, grabbed his backpack, which he packed earlier this morning at George’s prompting, and called a goodbye to Martha. Eliza waited on the doorstep, smiling to herself, laughing in her mind at a secret joke only she understood. When Alexander reemerged, she held out her hand to him and they walked down the front porch steps together.

Ash Grove was an easily walkable town, although that didn’t keep many of its more reckless residents from driving everywhere. Eliza shared a car with her sisters, but Angelica needed it today (something about meeting someone in the next town over). Alexander didn't have a car; if he wanted one he could get it, but he has always disliked cars and did not think he would be able to drive one safely. Most people who knew him would agree.

The two of them made their way across town to the shopping mall, holding hands. The sky was bright blue; there was a cool breeze playing with Eliza’s hair. If you stepped back and blurred out the reason for their excursion, you would think of them as perfectly ordinary.

When they got there, they split up, promising to meet up again at the food court in an hour. Ever-practical, Eliza turned to the department store. Ever-impulsive, Alex headed to the third floor, to Rain & Shine.

There was something about the store that always feels like home to him. Looking around at the shelves stacked high with rainbows, t-shirts and flags and pins in every set of colors, Alexander was sure that he’d find things John would want. He was willing to bet that John doesn’t own anything with a pride flag on it and that he would like to change that.

Forty-five minutes passed. Alexander texted John occasionally to ask quick questions which nevertheless took a long time to ask: for example, when he wanted to know John’s shoe size, he had to suggest numbers and ask if they were right or wrong, since John could only answer yes or no in the code he’d devised with Eliza. Eliza herself texted John quite frequently, sending him pictures of clothing to ask whether he liked them. Alexander did not do this; he wanted to keep his purchases a surprise.

Having finished his shopping, Alexander made his way to the checkout, weighed down by all the things he’d chosen but with a spring in his step. 

“Is all this for you, or someone else?” the woman at the cash register asked. Alex was startled for a moment, but quickly regained composure.

“Oh. The bi stuff is for me, the gay stuff is for my friend. But I’m paying for all of it, so it doesn’t really matter. Two bags would be nice, though.” He scans his credit card. He’s still not used to having it, still not used to not having to worry about money.

“All right. Do you need this billed discreetly?” Alex’s mind had managed to wander in the last few seconds. The worker took his blank look for confusion. “We can put this down on your credit card as something else, whatever you need. Lots of kids come in here, buying pride clothes, and need to keep it secret from their parents. We can bill it as candy or music or anything else.”

“Oh! No, I don’t need that. You can charge it as what it is.”

She nodded. “Here you are, then. Have a nice day.”

Eliza checked out easily and without much notable conversation and texted Alexander. She’d gotten John practical clothing, since she knew Alexander was not to be relied upon. She carried several bags and nearly dropped them while telling Alex she was waiting for him at the food court. 

He found her sitting at a table, bags at her feet, and fell into a seat next to her. He’d been running and was still out of breath. Eliza sighed.

“Did you run here? Did you run down the up escalator, by any chance?”

He flashed her a smile. “Noooo…” Placing his bag on the floor, he asked “What’d you get?” in an endeavor to change the subject.

“I got him clothes. Clothes I sent him pictures of, which he said he wanted. Normal clothes, practical clothes, because knowing you, all you have in there is pride stuff and maybe a jean jacket.”

“That’s rude.”

“Is it not true?”

Alex scrunched up his face. “It’s true. Still rude, though.”

“Good thing I know you. He’ll like whatever you got him.”

“You think?”

“Alex. Of course he will. You have excellent taste in everything except fro-yo.”

“Will you ever drop that?”

She grinned at him. “Never. Come on. Let’s get shakes.”

Alexander stood and held out his hand to Eliza. She took it with an easy smile.

The two of them purchased milkshakes-- strawberry for Eliza and chocolate for Alexander, although they stole sips of each other's frequently-- and stepped back out into the blazing sunlight. They didn't hold hands as they made their way back to the golf course, but that was only because of the bags they carried with them. Alexander walked into the clearing where they'd met John, a few steps ahead of Eliza. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I'll have another chapter out on Tuesday, I think. Please comment or leave kudos if you enjoyed the story!


	8. in which John receives clothes and news

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's chapter eight! Thank you so much for reading and please comment or leave kudos if you enjoyed it.

Alexander and Eliza returned to the sunny clearing in Ash Grove Golf Course where they’d first met a ghost, carrying plastic shopping bags from the mall and holding half-finished milkshakes. The grass rustled as they approached.

John was sitting on the rock again, obviously expecting them. He waved.

“Hi, John. Catch!”

Alex handed his milkshake to Eliza, then threw the bag he was carrying to John, who was not prepared for that to occur. He dodged the bag and gave Alexander an affronted look. “Dude.”

“Sorry? I thought you’d be able to catch that.”

John sighed. “Ordinarily, yes, I would be able to catch that. Nice throw, by the way. But I can’t catch things when I’m not corporeal.” He waved his hand around, through the air, then through the rock. “It takes me a few seconds to become corporeal and I can’t always do it on the first try. If I hadn’t been successful, the bag would have gone through me. I do not like it when people or things are inside me except when I’m doing it intentionally. I may be dead, but I still have personal boundaries. So please, don’t throw things at me or try to touch me when I’m not corporeal.”

Alex nodded. “I’m sorry, John.”

“It’s fine. Just don’t do it again.”

Eliza took a sip of Alex’s milkshake before handing both his milkshake and her own to him. Crossing the clearing, she held out the bags she carried to John. He became corporeal, then leaned down from the rock to take them. 

Alex squinted. “Wait. You just went corporeal, right? So you could take the bags? You look slightly different, like a different color. More gray than silver.”

“Yeah, I did. That’s interesting. Probably useful, if you can tell by looking.”

“Noted. Open Eliza’s bags first, mine are better.”

Eliza elbowed him. “Yours are more interesting, sure, but you didn’t get him any pants. If I’d let you shop by yourself, he still wouldn’t have enough clothes.” She looked over at John. “I’m the responsible one. Alex is the chaotic bi disaster.”

Alex high-fived her. “That you are, my lady.” 

John turned his attention to Eliza’s shopping bags, putting aside Alexander’s apparent bisexuality for the moment. He’ll consider it later. As Alex had said, it contained relatively standard clothing: jeans, t-shirts, underwear, socks, a pair of shoes. There was also a sketchpad and a few pencils and pens. He offered her a smile. “Thank you, Eliza.”

“Of course. Someone had to, and I am suited to practicality, if I do say so myself.”

Alex tapped his fingers against his leg. “Open mine now.”

John did as he said, humming to himself as he looked inside. His face lit up as he pulled out a pair of rainbow sneakers. “Hold on. You got me pride stuff?” He began digging through the rest of the bag. “Wow! Thank you!” 

Alexander glowed. “You’re welcome.”

John continued to pull out articles of clothing from the bag, exclaiming over each item: among other things, a jean jacket, various rainbow pins which John proceeded to immediately attach to the jacket, a pride hoodie, and, buried at the bottom of the bag, a rainbow t-shirt reading GHOSTLY GAY. When John removed this particular item, he didn’t even attempt to stifle his laughter. After a moment, he regained his composure. “This is glorious. How did you find it?”

Alexander shrugged. “Rain & Shine has an enormous selection, but it was mostly luck. And no, I don’t know why they carry t-shirts that say that, but it exists. They even had other shirts along the same lines. Bewitching Bi. Paranormal Pan.”

“Oh, you should have gotten one for yourself, you two could have matched,” Eliza interjected.

Alexander shook his head sadly. “Another opportunity wasted.”

John considered this idea for a moment, then elected to ignore it until a time when he was no longer in Alexander’s presence and would be less embarrassed. “Heh.” 

Alexander glanced at him with a question in his eyes, but did not voice it. John, in an effort to change the subject, concentrated on the t-shirt still in his hand, forcing energy into it. The shirt quickly became transparent, much like John’s current clothing and John himself-- in short, it had become a ghostly t-shirt. 

Alexander gaped at him. “Whoa.” John smiled at him. “Did I not tell you I can do this? I can make things ghostly if I want, so now this t-shirt will be tangible and visible if I’m not touching it, but if I’m wearing it, it’ll be in whatever state my body’s in. It’s tiring; I wouldn’t just make something ghostly for no reason, but I think it’ll be useful for my clothes.”

“Ah. I can see how that would be helpful, especially if you were trying to pass through something solid--”

“That’s so cool,” Alex interrupted with a glowing smile.

Eliza glared at him. “Alexander? Please don’t interrupt me, and definitely don’t interrupt me while smiling like that. You’ve made me completely lose my train of thought, but I can’t stay mad at you.”

Alex walked over to her, took her hand, and spun her around. “Of course you can’t. I’m extraordinarily charming.”

John avoided looking at the two of them. If he were to tell someone that he was not jealous of Eliza to some degree, and jealous of their happiness to an enormous degree, he would be lying through his teeth. He chose a few clothes, including the rainbow sneakers, and transformed them. When he slid off the rock, Alexander turned towards him.

“Where are you going?”

“I”m just going to go change. There’s a reason I needed new clothes.” He walked off into the forest before becoming invisible. He returned to his place on the rock a few minutes later, having laid his old clothes on his grave, now resplendent in jeans, sneakers, the jean jacket, and the GHOSTLY GAY t-shirt. While he’d been gone, Eliza and Alexander had begun to talk about an event that occurred at school the day before.

John became visible. “I’m back.”

The two of them turned in a simultaneous motion. Eliza nodded to him. “You look great.”

“Yeah, you look great,” Alexander echoed, giving John a soft smile.

John fiddled with the sleeves of the jacket. “Thank you. And thank you for the clothes.”

“‘Anytime.”

“Okay, now that John is here, back on topic,” Eliza interjected.

“I wasn’t aware there was a topic.”

Alexander laughed. “Yeah, I wasn’t either. Eliza? What’s the supposed topic of our discussion?”

“The topic of our discussion is… well, the topic is John, basically. I have news.”

“You have news?” asked John and Alexander in the same breath, voices overlapping.

“Yes. Sort of. Let me talk, boys.”

Alexander waved his hand. “Talk away, my lady.”

Eliza took a deep breath. “So yesterday I did some quick research, nothing too intensive. I was thinking that we could ask Aaron and Theo about it at some point-- only if that’s okay with you, John, of course-- but I did find out some things about your siblings.”

“What about my siblings? And who are Aaron and Theo?” 

“They’re our friends,” Alex said. “They’re really into history, and I think they already believe in ghosts. I think they could probably help a lot.” “Help? Help with what?”

Alex shrugged. “When you find a ghost, you’re supposed to help them with their unfinished business or help them see their loved ones again, aren’t you?”

“I don’t really have ‘unfinished business’. Already killed my dad and got my revenge. But it would be nice to see my siblings.”

Eliza nodded. “And they should know that you’re still around, if not precisely alive.”

“Wait. They’re older now, aren’t they? I’ve been asleep for five years. Mary Eleanor is five now. Martha’s the same age as me! That’s weird to think about.” He trailed of, staring into space for a few seconds before recollecting himself. “So what about my siblings, exactly?”

“Well, it turns out that after you pulled all those tricks in the golf course, the owners closed it. It was then sold to one Mr. Stephen Irontree.” 

“Wait. Mr. Irontree? He was my dad’s assistant. Where’d he get the money to buy it?”

“Well, you see, after Henry Laurens’ death, he was made the guardian of your siblings. I’m not entirely sure why your father made that decision, but it was written in his will. He was also given charge of the Laurens fortune and estate until one of your siblings became an adult. He bought the golf course for ten thousand dollars using Laurens money. I don’t know why he did that, but he’s never actually done anything with the course. It’s just lain empty all these years.”

“Theo and Aaron might know,” Alexander added. 

Eliza gave him a look, then continued. “The point is, your siblings are fine, they’ve been taken care of all these years by Mr. Irontree, who seems to be a good person, and they still live in the house in Ash Grove. Irontree hasn’t done much business in the last few years, but he’s sold off a few assets so that they have something to live on, and he’s made some money off stocks and real estate and the like.”

John nodded. “Okay. So that’s our plan? Talk to Theo and Aaron, whoever they are, and try to get in touch with my siblings?”

Eliza smiled at him. “That’s our plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The t-shirt is based on an existing piece of merchandise: https://www.etsy.com/listing/762810071/ghostly-gay-short-sleeve-unisex-t-shirt?ga_search_query=ghostly%2Bgay&ref=shop_items_search_1&frs=1&crt=1


	9. in which Eliza is fed up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for lateness! Here it is. Please comment and/or kudos if you enjoyed it; your opinions give me life.

There was a period of four days where not much of note occurred, at least for Alexander. He and Eliza visited John almost every day. The three of them joked and laughed and told stories. Although they had agreed to bring Theodosia and Aaron into their confidences, they were unable to do so. Theo was away with her parents, on a spontaneous vacation for which she was missing school. “What is it with the Bartows and taking those vacations, anyway? The school year is close to over. They could just wait,” Alex had grumbled. Eliza hadn’t had an answer for him, and John, having met the Bartow family only once, five years ago, and not remembering Theodosia, only laughed.

Eliza, although she had never been the brains of the family, had also never been stupid. She'd always had a clear head and been able to see things others didn't. When she saw John Laurens in the clearing, she knew that she would end up tangled into his story some way or another, so she plunged in with both feet. If she was going to be involved, she’d do all she could.

Eliza saw things no one else did. She saw the way Alexander’s gaze flickered, caught by John’s smile, John’s eyes, John’s spattered freckles and luxurious curls. Eliza saw Alexander look at him and knew his thoughts. She was good at reading him, after this much time.

Eliza hadn’t had as much practice trying to see and understand John, but she watched him look at Alexander, when he was ranting and not paying much attention to his audience, and saw his soft smile. Eliza caught his gaze, and he turned his face away, cheeks flushed with something like shame.

If Eliza could see things few others did, her sister was blessed with the same gift. Back in January, Angelica had pulled her aside in the coffee shop, just hours before Alexander asked Eliza out. They’d gone out all together, the three Schuylers and Alexander, although in no time several people they barely knew had joined them. The coffee shop was the hot spot of high school social interaction on Fridays in the winter, and it was difficult to find a quiet corner, but Angelica had somehow managed it.

“Eliza, you know Alexander’s going to ask you out soon, yes?”

Eliza had blinked. “You think so?”

“I’m certain. Eliza, do you want to date him? I’m not asking if you like him-- god knows you've talked about him enough for me to know that-- but do you really want to get into a relationship with him?”

“Why do you ask? Where is this going? Do you know something else I’m not aware of?” 

Angelica had placed her hands on Eliza’s shoulders, her expression serious. “I do, in fact. I’ve seen him. I’ve talked to him. I’m not lovesick like you are.”

Eliza had nodded. “All right. Give me your insight, dear sister.” 

“Alexander is full of pretty words, but he’s not going to be utterly devoted to you like he thinks he will be. At some point, he’ll get a crush on someone else, and you’ll have to decide if you still like him despite that. Will you be able to make that decision, when it comes? No,” —she had put a finger to Eliza’s lips, preventing her from replying— “don’t answer that. Just think about it. I don’t want you to be hurt by him.”

Eliza had taken a deep breath before she spoke again. “How sure are you about this?”

“Dead sure.” 

“All right. I’ll think about it.”

Alexander had asked her out. She’d accepted, having decided that she was strong enough to make peace with the idea that Alex wouldn’t be devoted to only her forever. 

And now John was here and the moment had come. Eliza had been ready for it for a long time. The only thing to do now was to consider her next steps.

On the third of four uneventful days, Alexander realized he was crushing, for lack of a better word, on one John Laurens. This particular realization could be considered to have made the day eventful, except for the fact that Alexander did nothing about it.

John was sitting on his rock, sunlight streaming through him, glowing softly. Eliza and Alexander sat on the ground below him, listening to him talk about things that had happened in school five years ago, old gossip about people who had moved on with their lives already. Eliza was enthralled. Alexander was focused on John, but not on the things he said. It took him a second to realize he was staring. He turned away, but the way John’s lips moved and the freckles painted across his face in a slightly darker shade of silver stayed in his mind, burned across his eyelids. Alexander did not blush, but he came close before realizing Eliza was right there and would see him. _Eliza._

Alexander stared into the distance and pushed down those thoughts, banishing John’s beautiful eyes and ignoring the nagging guilt. He had a girlfriend, so anything about John’s appearance or how charismatic and humorous he was didn’t really matter, and he didn’t need to think about it.

If Eliza weren’t paying such close attention to John’s story, she most likely would have been able to pinpoint the exact moment of Alexander’s realization from his facial expressions alone. As it was, she only knew about an hour later, when the two of them had to leave. “See you later, John!” Eliza called over her shoulder, starting on the path towards home.

“See you later, John,” Alexander echoed, a dreamy smile flashing across his face, immediately followed by a moment of guilt, then his stone-blank, schooled expression that Eliza had seen a million times.

John was still looking at Eliza. If he hadn’t missed Alexander’s change in expression, things might have shaken out differently. However, as it was, Eliza knew how Alexander felt, and knew that Alex knew, and that was enough.

Eliza made a decision. After dinner, she snuck back to the golf course, alone.

She found John there, lying on his grave, staring at the sky. He’d just been talking to himself, although as soon as he heard her approach he fell silent, and she heard none of it. He sat up quickly, raising his hand to greet her. “Hello, Eliza! I didn’t expect you two be back today.” When he looked around the clearing and failed to see Alexander, his face fell. “Is Alex here?”

Eliza offered him a reassuring smile. “No, he’s not. I came by myself.”

John blinked. “Oh.” Eliza wasn’t sure, but she thought she saw fear in John’s expression, just for a moment. He stood up and floated onto the rock, where he became corporeal and held out a hand to Eliza. “Climb up. Sit with me.”

Eliza took his hand. It was eerie, to touch a specter’s hand. John’s skin was cold, and it didn’t feel exactly like skin, more like some sort of strange skin-adjacent substance. She pulled herself up, then moved to sit across from him, giving him plenty of space. “So, John.”

John met her eyes. “So, Eliza.”

“All right, I’m pretty sure you’ve guessed I didn’t come here purely on a social call.” Over the short time she had known him, Eliza had discovered that John was highly skilled at the ostentatiously worded banter common among teenagers in Ash Grove, on par with Alexander, even. She thought it might put him at ease.

He shrugged, smiling a little. “I might have speculated to that effect.” 

“I am unsurprised. You are quite intelligent, my friend. I would be a fool not to know that. Shall I get straight to the point?”

He smiled a bit more. “You might as well cut straight to the heart of it, my friend.”

“Alexander likes you,” she said simply.

John’s smile disappeared in an instant, replaced by befuddled shock. “I’m sorry, what?”

“He likes you. You didn’t mishear me.”

“I apologize, but Eliza, this doesn’t make much sense. We’re friends. I know he likes me. Do you mean he _likes_ me?”

She smiled at him. “I do, in fact, mean that.”

John looked aghast. “I didn’t mean-- I’m sorry, Eliza. You’re his girlfriend. Believe me, I’m not trying to make him like me that way. And how do you know? What makes you think he’s into me?”

She snickered. “As if anyone can _make_ Alexander do anything. Relax, John. I’m not mad at you. Or Alex, for that matter. I know because I can read people well, and I know Alexander. I haven’t known you as long, but I’m pretty sure you like him too.”

John let out a breath. “Yeah. There’s the truth. I caught feelings really quickly. But-- you’re not mad at _anyone_?”

“Trust me. I’ve known Alex would crush on someone else at some point for a long time. My sister warned me before we started dating. No hard feelings, John.”

John paused, became corporeal, then scooted over to Eliza, hugging her. She hugged him back, only a little bit surprised. “Thank you. God, it feels good not to be keeping secrets.” He pulled away from her with a shaky smile. “So, what are our next steps?”


	10. in which confessions are made

Eliza remained in the clearing for another hour, plotting with John. When she left, they were both confident their plan would work. John was euphoriously lovesick and Eliza was pleased with herself. Both of them slept well.

Alexander did not. At one o’clock in the morning, he was still staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. He made a new decision and forged a clear path ahead every few minutes, and changed his mind just as quickly.

 _John or Eliza?_ whispered the night to him. _John, Eliza, Eliza, John, Eliza, Eliza, Eliza._ He knew he had to make a choice, a decision, one or the other.

He could stay with Eliza and push down his feelings and his guilt. She would be happy. She would never know. He would remain unsatisfied. 

Alternatively, he could break up with her, or he could tell her he liked John and let her break up with him. He could have a chance with John, but at the price of Eliza’s heart. He saw no good options.

Alexander fell asleep around two in the morning and had horrible dreams, which he was unable to recall upon waking; nevertheless, he woke with a lingering feeling of loss and shame. School passed in a blur, but Eliza met him at his doorstep afterwards and he remembers every second of the walk to the golf course in excruciating detail: every time Eliza smiled or squeezed his hand or laughed, he felt guilt eating at him. And yet, as soon as they made it to the golf course, Alexander managed to relax. Laughing with John and Eliza, he pushed his current dilemma to the back of his mind.

And so the fourth uneventful day passed. The next day, a Thursday, was almost exactly the same.

At least until the incident.

Alexander was sitting in the largest sliver of shade he could find, telling a story, and gesturing animatedly. Even in the shade, he was baking in the summer heat. Eliza fanned herself periodically. She’d brought a water bottle full of ice, but it’d already melted.

John was sitting on the ground, leaning against the rock, which he didn’t usually do, but Alexander hadn’t thought anything of it. Eliza was listening, but she also periodically made eye contact with John, attempting to impart wisdom and advice through intense looks. It didn’t seem to be working, as John just gave her confused looks in response. Alexander did not notice any of this.

“This didn’t happen in Ash Grove, it was back when I was still in West Strapehaven. But this girl comes up to me, and she says ‘what’s your name’, and I say ‘I’m Alexander’, because, you know, that’s my name. And then, the next thing she says”-- he adopted an idiotically prim accent-- “‘Well, Al-ex-an-der, would you like to go out with me sometime?’” He barely made it to the end of the sentence before bursting into laughter. “She just-- asked me out the second she saw me!”

Eliza was chuckling. John rolled his eyes. 

“Oh, that is such a lie.”

“What? No! That’s how it happened, I swear!”

“Don’t believe you, for several reasons.” John had a mischievous glint in his eye. Alexander had no idea why that was. Eliza could guess. “Oh? Let’s hear them,” Alex said, with some trepidation.

“Number one, you said this happened in West Straphaving or wherever--” 

“Not the name of the town.”

“I don’t care, Al-ex-an-der. It happened somewhere else, meaning Eliza can’t confirm it happened. And number two, you’re not handsome enough for a girl to ask you out the moment she saw you.” “That’s rude. You don’t think I’m attractive? At all?” Alexander wasn’t sure why he said that; he was just digging himself into a deeper hole with every word out of his mouth, but his mind was still stuck on the way John said _Al-ex-an-der,_ like his name was something special and exciting, a word to linger over _._

“Oh, you’re charming, you’re funny, you’re nice once one gets to know you, but if she asked you out immediately, she had to have been going off looks alone. And no one in their right mind would see you with your hair like _that_ and think ‘I want to date this guy.’ Just the facts.”

“What’s wrong with my hair?” Alexander was trying to keep a poker face, uncomfortably aware that he was failing.

“I mean, it has potential.” John became corporeal, scrambled over to Alexander, and leaned towards him. Before Alex could react, he was already undoing Alex’s ponytail and running his fingers through his hair.

Ghosts do still breathe, as Alexander quickly became aware; he could feel John’s cold breath on his cheek, John’s hands in his hair and John’s elbows on his shoulders. His skin was cold and strange-feeling, but it definitely wasn’t unpleasant. A blush rose to his cheeks.

John had begun to braid Alex’s hair. Alexander was hopelessly flustered and completely unable to hide it. Eliza, a few feet away, saw him blush and saw the guilty expression on his face. That was no surprise, given how observant she was.

The important thing was that Alexander saw her watching him and knew he’d failed to keep his feelings secret.

John pulled a ghostly hair tie off his wrist and finished the braid. “There. You have pretty hair. With it like that, I’d believe that story.” He returned to his spot leaning against the rock. Eliza flashed him a smile, too quickly for Alexander to notice. 

Alexander didn’t say anything at all for five minutes. That was when John and Eliza knew they’d succeeded.

After ten minutes, Eliza made a vague excuse and all but dragged Alexander, who was still barely functioning, out of the clearing. She threw John a wink as they left, which Alex didn’t see. He said nothing on the walk out to the golf course gates, stewing with guilt and confusion, butterflies burning in his stomach.

Eliza nudged him. “Something on your mind? Someone on your mind?”

“Would you believe me if I said it’s nothing?”

“To be honest? Nope.”

Alexander didn’t respond. “Is it John?” she pressed.

By the time he spoke again, Alex and Eliza had made it out of the golf course and to the tree where they’d locked their bikes. He let out a long sigh.

“Yeah. It’s John. I’m sorry, Eliza. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be… I have you. That should be enough.”

She squeezed his hand, gave him a quick kiss, and pushed him gently in the direction of the golf course. “Oh, Alexander. I talked to him. You’re fine. I’m not angry at you. Go.” 

Alexander looked at her blankly. “What?”

“Go. Go talk to him. Put that gentlemanly charm to good use. I’m rooting for you, Alex.”

And with that, she hopped on her bike and sped away.

It took him a moment to process what had just happened, but once he did, he turned around and headed back towards John’s clearing with a light heart and a spring in his step. 

John was sitting on his rock, tapping his fingers and staring vaguely in the direction of the path into the clearing. When Alex approached, his face lit up and he beckoned. 

“Hi. You’re back! Come sit on the rock.”

Alex approached cautiously. He’d never climbed this particular rock before. John smiled at him.

“Stand on one of the seats. I’ll give you a hand up.”

John flickered, becoming corporeal, then leaned off the rock to hold out his hand to Alexander, who had jumped up onto one of the carved seats. When he touched John’s hand, he had to keep himself from flinching; his hand felt just different enough from living skin that it was jarring. He reckoned he could get used to it, though-- if he had an excuse to touch John more. Alex used John’s outstretched hand to pull himself onto the top of the rock, only slightly distracted by the thought that _wow,_ John was strong. 

After Alexander had climbed up and was seated comfortably atop John’s rock (which, he suddenly realized, he’d never sat on before; it felt strangely intimate, like John had invited him into his sanctuary) he wasn’t quite sure what to say. Luckily, John had an understanding of what was going on. 

“So, why’d you come back?” 

He blinked. “Eliza told me to.”

John scooted a bit closer. “Oh, really? Why’d she do that?”

Alex was at a loss for words for a few seconds, then decided to avoid the question. “Hmm. Why do you think?”

John was distracted by Alexander’s teasing smile for a moment, but bounced back quickly. He’d always been good at this kind of conversational game.

“Let me think. Perhaps she wants you to deliver me a letter containing information I might use to assassinate the ruler of a far-off kingdom? Or maybe she has heard that I am to be driven from land by some dark ritual and wishes to warn me. Hmm, or she thinks I know a secret which she is interested in.”

“If she wanted to know your secret, hypothetically, why would she send me?”

“Good point. Does she want me to tell _you_ a secret? Or maybe you have something to tell me.”

He moved a little closer. “You’re actually pretty close. I do have something to tell you.”

“Oh? Let’s hear it.”

He took a breath, opened his mouth, then shut it again and bit down hard on his lip. John stayed silent, leaving him the floor.

He finally spoke. “I have a crush. On you. Eliza said--”

“I know what Eliza said.”

Alexander stared at him dumbfoundedly for a moment. “She set us up. No, _you two_ set _me_ up. I have the worst girlfriend ever.”

John smiled a little, eyes twinkling. “You mean the best girlfriend ever.”

“Yeah, honestly. I got really lucky.”

“You sure did. And so did I.”

It took him a few seconds to realize that John had never acknowledged his confession. “So. I have a crush on you. Are those feelings reciprocated?” It’s easier to get the words out of his mouth the second time around.

He smirked. “I don’t _have crushes._ I’m gay for people. Specifically one person, specifically you.”

Alexander didn’t miss a beat. “Well, then. Would you like to be my boyfriend?” He held out his hand.

“I would like nothing more.” He smiled wide, a genuine and honest grin.

 _He lights up the world,_ Alexander thought to himself. A few seconds passed before John took Alexander’s hand. Alex smiled back at him and squeezed it. “Your hand’s cold.”

John held on tighter, almost desperately. He hadn’t been touched very much in the time since he’d been dead, and only now that Alexander was holding his hand did he realize how much he’d missed it. “Sorry. Comes with being dead.”

Alexander scooted closer to him. “It’s fine. Are _you_ cold?”

“Yeah. Not all that cold, though. I’m used to it.”

He pursed his lips. “No, that’s not good. As your boyfriend, it’s important to me that you don’t feel cold. Can I hug you?”

John bit his lip, then let out a breath in a huff. “Yes. Please do.”

When Alexander wrapped John in a tight hug, he stiffened for a moment, but relaxed into it after a few seconds. He stroked John’s hair, which was indeed as soft and luxurious as he thought it would be, and felt John shiver under his touch. Alex was sure he could get used to this, especially during the summer months; hugging John cooled him down in no time, even though they were sitting in the sun in the 90-degree heat.

When Eliza returned, she found them still snuggled together. John was playing with Alex’s hair, while Alexander was simply hugging John as hard as he could. “He needs cuddles,” he told her when she walked into the clearing and saw them. “And it’s hot, and he’s cold.”

Eliza scrambled onto the top of the rock. “All right, scoot over. You can’t just cuddle and leave me out.”

“We can’t have that,” Alex conceded.

They spent the rest of the afternoon curled together, speaking occasionally, but mostly enjoying each other’s company. _Hugs are so much better with three people,_ Alexander thought to himself.

Alexander was lovesick and guilt-free, Eliza felt self-satisfied and proud, and John was just enjoying being touched. He knew he’d be exhausted later on from spending so much time corporeal, but he didn’t care all that much. Later was later. He could handle bone-deep exhaustion if it meant he could have hugs. 

All in all, it was the most peace any of them had enjoyed in a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO much for reading! Please leave a comment or kudos if you liked it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Comments are always appreciated.


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